


SWOOPING IS BAD ★

by elfroot



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Dragons, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 09:56:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3892003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfroot/pseuds/elfroot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Garrett Hawke desperately tries to turn into a dragon, lest he be eaten by a shark. Loosely based on <a href="http://greendelle.tumblr.com/post/117072071626/synnister-greendelle-summer-in-thedas-sure">this gorgeous piece</a> by greendelle @ tumblr. This short drabble is basically a cluster of crack. I’m not kidding. Cullistair heavily implied because what did you expect really. Fenhawke a given. Grumpiness. Terrible puns. Terrible humor. Sap that may cause second-hand embarrassment and shoulder touches that I’m still not over Maker help me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	SWOOPING IS BAD ★

**Author's Note:**

> _i'm so sorry_

Up. Down. Up. Down. Down…  _Down_ , faster, spinning swift and out of control, and the ocean takes him with an eager surge, a nose dive into its depths. The scream he screamed still resonates in the air about them,  _shrill_ , rippling over indigo waves, and there’s a tongue clicking as it fades, a growl grating its way past gritted teeth, and the Champion of Kirkwall emerges from blue and green, waving frantic and completely _daft_  from a fair distance.

 _U g h_.

“Oh, well. That went…” Alistair clears his throat, a careful glance in Fenris’ direction. “That went  _well_.”

To be fair, he  _did_ manage to fly,  _glide, w_ ings and all, even  _scales_ , but Cullen won’t have it.

“It could have been worse,” he grouses, shaking his head, and Alistair doesn’t see him but he knows,  _feels_ , behind him, because he stands so close. “He could have snapped his neck, falling from such heights. What was he thinking?”

Thinking? No, thinking certainly  _isn’t_  involved here, and Alistair crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back, slightly, and the three of them stare curious at the man in the ocean,  _Hawke_ , the mage, the Champion.

 _The pseudo-dragon_.

“I called it,” Alistair says, and Fenris sighs beside him—he suspects his eyes have already rolled in the far back of his head, but the sunglasses he wears manage to hide what the noises bubbling up his throat cannot. “Swooping  _is_  bad. I should have warned him. Saved him the trouble  _and_  the pain, and—”

“And you would have wasted your breath, as always.”

“…Ouch. I’ll just… stand here and pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“No, I…” and there’s another sound on Fenris’ tongue, raw, and he sighs again, white locks of hair caught in the breeze as he shifts, straighter on his legs, ready to run, to fetch the idiot he’s fallen for. “ _He_  wouldn’t have listened. He never did, and he never will, to anyone. I do wonder how he has survived this long considering all the trouble he gets into.”

“He has you,” Alistair smiles, light, barely there, and he feels the gentle pressure around his shoulder, Cullen’s breath soft on his neck, and Fenris smiles as well, covert, because he knows, they all do, the meaning behind such simple words.

“I suppose he does,” he agrees, a reserved nod, and the sweep of his mouth vanishes as quickly as it came, tighter now,  _disgruntled_ , and his skin seems brighter.

“Perhaps not for long…”

“He’s about to try again, isn’t he,” Alistair winces, watching as Hawke moves underwater, shifting,  _growing_ , breaking the surface in hesitant circles. “He’s…oh. He doesn't—hey, did you see that? A seal.  _With wings_. Is that a new trick of his,  _ooor_ … is that… a…  _shark_.”

“Maker’s breath. There _is_  a shark, right behind him.”

“ _Fasta vass_. Hawke!”

His skin definitely _is_  brighter, vibrant lines of serpentine blue as he lurches forward, and he runs, graceful, feral, reaching the shore faster than Alistair can crack a joke. Truth be told, that shark doesn’t stand a chance against his ghostly fist, likely to be punched into oblivion before it’s even had time to open its jaw, but Hawke is of different mind, unwilling to wait, and he swims, faster, shifting again, his face paler every time he resurfaces.

“Will he turn into a seal? Or maybe a… sea…gull. Will he spread his wings and fly, or will he  _swoop again,_  before the shark swallows him whole? The suspense is  _dragon_ _out_ — _Ow_! Hey!”

He turns askance, an indignant scowl as he rubs his lower back, slapped, backhanded—there is no excuses for terrible puns—and if Cullen returns his glare in full, the frown Alistair sports ultimately softens his own, and his lips stretch, lopsided, a whisper on his tongue…

…but the shadow looming over them silences him before he’s even spoken, and he looks up, and up,  _and up_ , and a roar echoes in his ears and fire erupts above them, and Hawke flies, majestic,  _fast_ , the beast he’s always dreamed to be… spiraling down and crashing hard against the ground, a long trail of burnt sand in his wake.

“ _Vishante kaffas_!”

Fenris hasn’t stopped glowing, and he runs back to them,  _past them_ , towards Hawke, and the Champion lies bare in the sand, wounded but happy, and he winks,  _at them_ , loopy at best, because for all of a few seconds…  _well_. He  _was_  a dragon.

“Andraste preserve him,” Alistair cringes, one eye cracked open, and right on cue, Fenris’ glow intensifies, fierce, merciless, and he looms predatory over Hawke. “He’s about to be dangerously man…han…dled. I’m not sure I want to witness that.”

“I was under the impression that he was  _already_  being manhandled.”

“Oh, that? That’s  _nothing_. His ears are probably bleeding from all that yelling though. But the  _real_  manhandling. It should happen once we’re out of sight. I wouldn’t be surprised if he cried himself to sleep.”

“Then perhaps we should… give them some privacy.”

“Eager to test my theory, I see?”

“Eager to test… something else of yours.”

“Oho,” Alistair all but grins, and he turns to face him, fully, only realizing then how much closer Cullen stands, leaning forward, drifting,  _towards him_ , a flutter of fingertips along the side of his torso. “Has the sun finally gotten to your head then? Or is it the clothes I wear?  _Or lack thereof_. I’ve caught you looking, you know. Mul..ti..ple…  _times_. You’re a wicked, wicked ma—”

“And  _you’re_  on the verge of making me change my mind.”

“Fine, fine, Ser  _Grumpy_. I’ll know better than to let you wander anywhere close to Fenris next time. Alright, lead the way. Your wish is my command.”

“And what of yours?”

“You mean,  _my_  wish?”

Cullen nods, a faint question in his eyes, light, gentle, and Alistair smiles an impish smile, tenderness mirrored as he catches his hand.

“My  _wish_  is you,  _Commander_ ,” and Cullen snorts,  _chuckles_ , fingers intertwined, and he leans down and he shakes his head, a flutter of lazy lashes.

Little do they know that a dragon’s set flight again, high above, sunbeam reflected on crimson scales, but they hear, distantly, the rumble up the clouds, thundered growls and satisfied howls, a glowy and frenzied mess of blue, dark and white on its back.

[elfrooted @ tumblr](http://elfrooted.tumblr.com/)


End file.
